Crushing Grapes

Some days we toast with finest wine,
A vintage sweet, aged well with time.
The sun is warm, the skies are clear,
And joy flows freely, year to year.

But then there come the aching days,
Of pressing burdens, clouded grays.
The joy once bottled now escapes
We’re not sipping wine… we’re crushing grapes.

We feel the weight, the turning stone,
The strain of striving all alone.
Yet in the pressing, something brews
A deeper strength, a grander view.

For God is working through the squeeze,
Transforming bitter into peace.
What seems like loss, He will refine
Today’s crushed grapes are tomorrow’s wine.

So lift your heart, though hands may shake,
There’s purpose in each bruise and break.
The sweetest sips, the richest blends,
Are born through trials—and grace that mends.

2Co 4:8  We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair 

For Gods Honor and Glory
MarkWaldrop